A Not So Meet Cute(89)

“What do you want for lunch?” he asks.

“I thought you can’t cook.”

“I can’t,” he says. “But a sandwich is in my wheelhouse.”

“Is it now?” I cross one leg over the other and lean my hands back on the counter. “What kind of sandwich? Grilled cheese? Or is that asking too much?”

He looks over his shoulder at me. “That’s asking too much.”

I snort and cover my nose at the same time. “You poor wealthy man. Can’t even make a grilled cheese. Let me show you how it’s done.”

I hop off the counter and go to the fridge to find the cheese. Butter is on the counter in a crock, and I turn to find Huxley handing me the bread.

I know the pots and pans are in the island cabinets so I open one of the doors and find exactly what I’m looking for.

When I turn toward the stove, I feel Huxley crowding me. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to break anything.”

“I’m not worried about you breaking anything,” he says. “I’m hoping you teach me.”

I pause. “You really don’t know how to make a grilled cheese?”

“Never made one before.”

“Oh God, why do I find that so endearing?” I ask.

His hand falls to my lower back as he moves to my other side. “Maybe because it’s a weakness of mine and you enjoy watching me struggle.”

I chuckle. “I do like seeing the almighty Huxley Cane having to come back down to earth.” I elbow him, showing him I’m teasing. And when he glances in my direction with a smile, I can feel all of my anxiety wash right out of me.

With one simple look.

That’s all it takes.

“So, how do we make these things?” He holds up two pieces of bread.

“You really are helpless.” I turn on the stovetop, warm up the pan, and then grab a plate and a knife, which I hand to him. “Do you know how to butter bread?”

He gives me a mocking look. “I’m not completely inept.”

“Just checking.” I smile widely. “Butter one side on each slice of bread.”

He lifts the top to the butter crock and swipes butter over the bread. He’s not smooth about it by any means. He’s actually quite clumsy, which I find adorable, and at one point, he pierces the knife through the bread, making it seem as though I’m sitting in the front row to an awful infomercial where they don’t know how to do simple things like cut a slice of cheese.

When he’s done with the butter, I hand him the cheese. “Put that on the sandwich and then, with the butter facing out, set the sandwich on the pan.”

“Easy enough,” he says, though he gets butter all over his fingers in his attempt to put the sandwich on the pan. I hand him a towel, which he uses to wipe his hands. “Now we wait?”

“Yes. I have the heat on medium and we’re going to cover the pan with this lid so the cheese melts, and then we’ll check on it in a minute or so.”

He stares at the pan and then runs his hand through his hair. “This seems far too easy. I’m looking like an asshat right now.”

I let out a loud laugh. “No, just . . . interesting, is all. If no one showed you, how would you know?”

“I could ask.”

“Which you did.” I pat his bare chest. “You asked me. Aren’t you lucky to have me as your teacher?”

“Very,” he says, his eyes serious.

Well . . . okay then.

Uh, let me just go, uh, get something so I don’t have to feel like a wilting flower under this man’s strong gaze.

I smile awkwardly and then head into the pantry to get some chips I saw in there the other day, as well as two bananas.

I don’t know what’s with the change of attitude on his end, but I’m going with it, because this is a Huxley Cane I could very much get along with. And given the man fell asleep with me on a pool float and then carried me upstairs to rest, I think I’m the Lottie Gardner he could get along with too.





“It doesn’t taste that bad after you scrape off the burnt parts,” I say, examining the sandwich.

“You realize this is your fault, right?” He takes a bite of his partially burnt grilled cheese.

“How is this my fault?” I ask.

We’re sitting at the outdoor dining set, a small bowl of chips between us, as well as pre-cut veggies from Reign. I must say, the personal chef thing is pretty nice, a luxury I’ll miss when this is all over.

“You left me in charge while you went to the bathroom.”

“I told you to check it in a few seconds to see if it was done and then to take it off the heat. You turned up the heat.”

“Something the supervisor should’ve been there to watch.”

I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair. “Keep telling yourself that, Hux.”

He sets his sandwich down and picks up his water. Casually, he leans back in his chair as well and looks out toward the pool. “Do you have any questions for me today?”

“I always have questions.”

“Fire away,” he says, looking way more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. Which means, he very well might be open to answering some hard-hitting questions.

Don’t mind if I do.